


Birthday Woes

by Storm337



Series: 2019 Tumblr Drabbles [37]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Sickness, implied/referenced throwing up, sick, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22082443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm337/pseuds/Storm337
Summary: Sick with HostRequested on Tumblr by Anonymous“There we go, that’s it…” with the Host - sequelRequested on Tumblr by Jurassicraptorcat“It’s not your fault,” with the Host - continuationRequested on Tumblr by Jurassicraptorcat
Series: 2019 Tumblr Drabbles [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587562
Kudos: 35





	Birthday Woes

The Host didn’t exactly have any plans for his birthday, but it still irritated him that, of all days, this would be the day he fell sick. He had Forseen it as a possibility and had acted accordingly to prevent this future, but it seemed that the universe had already made its decision, damn his efforts. He was glad, at least, that he hadn’t gone through with the fleeting thought to make any plans yesterday. Perhaps, in a way, his Sight was warning him of this future. 

Nevertheless, that wasn’t the point. The point was that the Host was sick, it was his birthday, and he was quite miserable. 

“The Host lifts his pounding head from his pillow, body aching and joints sore. He attempts to roll over onto his other side but gives up halfway there, settling down on his back instead. He feels blood flow down his cheeks, further staining his already thoroughly soiled bedsheets. The clock on the bedside table reads the time of 7:45 am. The Host decides that this is much too early to be awake on his birthday, when he is also sick, and resolves to go back to sleep.” 

And he did, for a few hours. They crept sluggishly on, the Host’s visions flickering through his exhausted brain, slipping into his warped dreams and distorting his restless sleep. He woke again disoriented and flushed, practically shaking despite the intense heat that rose from his sweaty skin. He rocked to the side, moaning as nausea rolled in his gut and pools of blood emptied down his cheeks and onto the floor in little splatters. 

“Th-The Host fe-feels significantly worse than he did earlier. His illness seems to have escalated to a full-blown fever. He is- he….he-” 

The Host’s sight flashed, showing him throwing his blankets away in a panic, slapping a hand over his mouth as he rushed to his feet. The abrupt upright motion sent him reeling, his face losing its color as he staggered, reaching out with his remaining hand to try and steady himself from vertigo. He managed to stay upright, through sheer force of will and deep breathing, but his stomach rolled again and he was fumbling his way silently to the bathroom. He Foresaw himself stubbing his toe, knocking into two chairs, felling a stack of braille books, and barely making it to the toilet in time. 

“The Host is not going to enjoy today,” he grumbled, just before he gagged and was forced to put his hand over his mouth, resigned to the pain and humility to come.

* * *

“There we go, that’s it….” 

The Host gasped, breath hitching as he tried to inhale too quickly. He dissolved into a horrid coughing fit, lungs burning, ribs aching, his entire body shaking with the harsh desperate actions. The comforting hand on his back continued rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, occasionally dipping lower to support the dip of his back. Dr. Ipliers nails lightly scratched his skin on the way back up, sending pleasant shivers up the Host’s spine. The nice feeling didn’t last long, however. His breath caught again and he was coughing once more, feeling his stomach suddenly revolt. Iplier’s movement stilled, his free hand coming up to hold the Host’s hair away from his face as he spit up what was lodged in his throat. 

Somewhere behind him, Google made a disgusted noise, which the Host was surprised he could identify considering how mechanical it was. His Sight showed him Iplier turning his head to glare at the robot, although this did nothing but cause Google to roll his eyes and turn away, sharp gaze surveying the hallway. He wasn’t quite sure why Google was still here, standing vigil in the doorway, keeping watch for an invisible enemy that had already struck. This had to be inconvenient for him, obviously gross, a nuisance, an order perhaps-

But Google didn’t leave, even when Mark came back with a fresh roll of bandages, a cup from the kitchen, and a new set of clothes. Iplier thanked him softly, but even his whispered words sent pain lancing through the Host’s head. He keened lowly, resting his sweaty forehead on the toilet edge, gritting his teeth against the buzzing in his head that sounded suspiciously like Dark’s ever-present ringing. He was too unfocused to pay any attention to the conversation Mark was having with Iplier, only aware of his creator retreating reluctantly back into the Host’s bedroom. He came back briefly to pull Google away, and then the door closed. Iplier stepped away for a moment to fill the glass, and the Host took the time to gingerly sit back on his sore knees. He held his hand out preemptively for the glass, thankful that it was plastic. His hand shook horribly as he brought the water to his lips, clearing his mouth out and then spitting it into the toilet. Iplier hovered over him, ready to help him up when the Host was prepared to try getting to his feet. 

“Dr. Iplier should not have to waste his day caring for the Host,” he rasped, setting the cup down and bracing his hands on the sides of the toilet. Iplier was there immediately, tucking his arms under the Host’s and hauling him to his feet in a manner that was shockingly gentle. He was immediately steered to sit on the edge of the tub, leaning his hot head against the chilly tile. 

“You shouldn’t have to be sick on your birthday, but here we are,” Iplier retorted, flushing the toilet and handing the Host his cup back. He fretted with the stack of clothing, amused at the little circle logo on the black articles. “Finish that. Then we’ve got to get you out of those clothes.” 

“The Host can change on his own.” 

“I’m going to act like we both don’t know that’s a load of bull and say I’m not going to risk you cracking your head open on the floor.” 

“The Host-”

“-is going to listen to his doctor and friend.” 

* * *

Mark had made many mistakes with the egos, most prominently with the discontinued four, but he was getting better. He could never make up for it, in the Host’s opinion, but the Host was very tempted to forgive Mark for most of it when he realized that the clothes Mark had brought him were not just his Cloak brand, but warm from being taken out of the dryer as well. It was a small detail but immensely appreciated by the Host in his current weakened state. He didn’t even realize he was cold until he’d slipped the sweatshirt on, hunkering down in the heated fabric and sighing as it helped to ease his sore muscles and aching bones. Dr. Iplier had to physically support him to keep him from simply sliding to the floor and going back to sleep there. 

“No no no- come on, stay on your feet, Host. Your bed is right around the corner, come on.” 

“Th-the Host resents Iplier’s logic,” he sniffled out, dropping his head to rest on the doctor’s shoulder as he was led out of the bathroom. 

Google whirled from his position by the Host’s door, glowing eyes tracking his movement and, most likely, scanning and analyzing him. Mark was quick to jump up from sitting on the Host’s desk, coming over to pull the bedsheets back. Fresh bedsheets, the Host realized as Iplier got him into bed, also warm from the dryer. The Host settled with an actual moan, immediately turning his face into his pillow and inhaling deeply while it wasn’t yet marred with blood. He heard a chuckle from behind him, but couldn’t tell if it was Iplier or Mark. 

Despite being wrapped in soft warmth, the Host continued to shiver, pulling his knees up to his stomach as he curled up. A tickle built suddenly in his lungs, throwing him into a coughing fit that scratched horribly at his already sore throat. Iplier tutted behind him, rushing to fill a cup with water again. The Host was surprised at the feeling of the mattress sinking behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder. 

“M-m-Mark shoul-shouldn’t waste his ti-time on the Host,” the blind ego barely managed to force out between horrid body shaking coughs, feeling the hand on his shoulder squeeze briefly. 

“It’s your birthday, Host, I would have wanted to be here anyway. It’s not your fault you’re sick.” 

“S-still, Mark sh-should not feel obligated to-” 

“I don’t feel obligated to be here, Host.” 

Dr. Iplier came back with a fresh towel and the cup, setting the latter on the Host’s nightstand and gently lifting the Host’s head to place the former under him. The Host shuddered, pressing into Iplier’s hand, which felt blessedly cool. Suddenly the hot sheets felt suffocating, sweltering, and the Host tossed fitfully, rolling to face Mark and trying to kick the blankets off. He Saw Mark’s worried expression and Saw him pull the blankets off of the Host moments before he actually did it. 

“I want to be here,” his creator reassured him again, and the Host felt a little better.


End file.
